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“Oh, what now?” Dustin snaps, and Steve can just hear the eye-roll. He pointedly does not see it, because if he looks at the kid’s face with its fucking split lip and black eye, he’s just going to get pissed all over again, and that hasn’t exactly been helping with anything so far.
Steve grits his teeth, continues to stare at the ground as they walk, pretending it’s to make sure he doesn’t trip. “Nothing, we’re good.”
“Right,” Dustin says, so dryly that Steve wonders if he’ll ever hear any other tone besides that and anger from him. “We’re so good you won’t even look at me.”
Something snaps in Steve’s gut, that red-hot rage that’s been sitting there since Dustin showed up hours ago looking like a punching bag. “Oh, I’m surprised you care,” he said. “You’ve made it pretty clear you don’t give a shit about what I have to say.”
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